


I let my guard down, and then you pulled the rug.

by explodingsnapple



Series: Cheers to the 99th Precinct! [14]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Episode: s07e11 Valloweaster, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Internal Conflict, Introspection, Post-Episode: s07e11 Valloweaster, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingsnapple/pseuds/explodingsnapple
Summary: Right on cue, his mind splits into halves, thirds, fifths, tenths, a million fractions, out of which only one bears the responsibility of dealing withthiswhile everything else argues, congratulates, and laughs along with his family.He doesn’t know exactly how it happens. All he sees is his wife and best friend giggling in front of him, and the tiny piece, having spent the past hour only occasionally bumping into things, firmly and confidently lodges itself in the center of his heart.(Post-7x11)
Relationships: Charles Boyle & Jake Peralta, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz & Jake Peralta
Series: Cheers to the 99th Precinct! [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1331927
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	I let my guard down, and then you pulled the rug.

He’s been walking on air, recently. It’s funny, how facing your fears does that. It makes you feel invincible. Like you can conquer the world. The problem with walking on air, though, is that your body eventually realizes that humans aren’t really supposed to do that and pushes you right back to the ground.

Whenever he did this before (had such high expectations that he was inevitably disappointed with their outcome), the falls were swift and recoveries simple, just a few cracks in his self-esteem that could be easily glued back together.

But Jake has always been good at finding distractions in everything and pretending problems don’t exist until he can’t anymore, and today is no exception. Right on cue, his mind splits into halves, thirds, fifths, tenths, a million fractions, out of which only one bears the responsibility of dealing with _this_ while everything else argues, congratulates, and laughs along with his family.

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens. All he sees is his wife and best friend giggling in front of him, and the tiny piece, having spent the past hour only occasionally bumping into things, firmly and confidently lodges itself in the center of his heart.

His mouth says something of its own accord. The smiles slip off their faces. Rosa immediately insists that “it wasn’t like that,” and Amy’s arm on his elbow pleads with him to stay. He brushes both of them off wordlessly. The cacophony in his head, like the crowd in Shaw’s, has died down, leaving just one phrase repeating over and over: _It was all a joke. None of it was real._

This time, the crash is gradual and hard. This time, the breaks are clean and the pieces scatter in all directions. This time, he’s not sure how he can put himself back together.

* * *

The cab ride back home is long and quiet. Jake knows he could probably ask someone to pick him up, but the only thing worse than being alone with his thoughts at this time having to talk about his problems ever again.

The cruel truth of it all was that therapy _did_ seem to help. He was finally able to process his time undercover, in Florida, and in Prison—not only the guilt, the fears, and the nightmares that continue to plague him, but also the experiences he had to endure; things that, until fairly recently, he made a point to never, ever discuss with _anyone_. The fact that Amy and Rosa, along with some random person he may never meet again, have been listening to thoughts he’s kept to himself for so long makes him sick to his stomach.

Just yesterday, he had been browsing baby clothes on the Target website and admiring how far he’s come over the past few months. _Seriously?_ Amy had asked when he suggested they start trying, and there was no hesitation in his response—but now, he’s not so sure anymore. If the therapist was actually an actress and all the sessions he spent with her a fake scam, then how could he be? How could any of the progress he made be real?

The taxi skids to a stop just as this thought enters his mind and sends it spinning. He walks dizzily into the apartment and straight to the bedroom before he crawls deep under the covers.His life is falling apart at his fingertips, and all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and try to sleep it all away.

* * *

Just as Jake’s finally about to drift off, his phone starts buzzing loudly somewhere under the pile of clothes next to his bed. When he finally digs it out, the screen lights up with two missed calls and several text notifications, all from Amy:

**(1:30 AM) I’m really sorry about everything. Please, can you pick up your phone? So we can talk?**

**(1:45 AM) Hey let me know when you get home**

**(1:45 AM) Or at least if you’re safe. I’m worried**

**(1:46 AM) Are you okay???**

**(1:47 AM) Jake, I’m really freaking out now**

Jake looks at the time—it’s 1:48. He purses his lips for a second, then responds:

**ya im ok**

Amy’s chat bubble appears and lingers on the screen. Jake watches the three circles pulsate for what seems like an eternity before Amy’s reply comes up:

**oh thank god. I have to drive Rosa home, but do you want to talk later?**

Jake’s about to react to it with a “thumbs up,” but he pauses. He’s really not in the mood to talk to _anyone_ right now. He taps the screen again to make the reaction window disappear, types out a message saying that he’s really tired, and burrows his face into his pillow again.

* * *

_Snap out of it._ Rosa’s voice pops into his head, and suddenly, he’s back at the Academy, trying not to freak out when the Patrol Cop told him he’ll never amount to anything. _You know yourself better than anyone. Don’t trust that dum-dum._

 _What if he was right?_ He responds.

_He wasn’t. A thousand pushups._

The scene shifts to the Admin room of his old high school, where he leans nervously against a desk while Amy peruses through an old computer for his attendance record. She stops her scrolling and nudges his foot gently with hers.

 _Jake, look at me._ _It doesn’t matter what a bunch of people do or say. You’re a good person, and anyone who truly knows you would believe that._

Jake sighs half-heartedly, and suddenly, he’s back at the precinct, handing Captain Holt a stack of paperwork.

 _What can I say, I was right. All it took was a forced session while being held at gunpoint to prove it,_ Jake quips, but even he can detect the flatness in his tone.

Holt peers at Jake over the top of his glasses. _It’s never wrong to ask for help when you need it. And one bad egg doesn’t mean everyone in his profession is useless._

Jake shrugs and averts his eyes. A split-second later, he’s standing next to Doug Judy in a parking lot and watching his sister speed away.

 _You know, sometimes people you trust do the wrong thing. It’s okay to be mad,_ he says, trying to placate his friend.

 _Damn, Peralta, when did you get so wise?_ Judy laughs and thumps his back, hard. Jake wakes up with a jolt.

Memories of the previous night come rushing back as soon as he realizes that the other half of the bed is empty. There’s no evidence in the rest of the room that his wife came back at all. Jake frantically reaches for his phone, and to his relief, there’s a text from Rosa informing him that Amy spent the night at her apartment. He stares at the message. 

The despair that settled, heavy as a stone, at the pit of his stomach twelve hours ago has shrunk down to a pebble, but something else has taken its place. Sadness? Wistfulness?

No, acceptance.

* * *

Charles calls seconds after Jake walks out of the shower to invite him to an art showcase Nikolaj’s school is holding.

Jake glances at the calendar taped to the side of the fridge and shakes his head. “Sorry, Amy and I are…going stroller shopping,” he murmurs, reading Amy’s careful print.

“Say no more. That is obviously _way_ more important,” Charles replies immediately. He starts spewing advice about which stores to go to and which brands provide the best back-support, but Jake involuntarily tunes him out.

He feels the same way he did the day he took his SATs in high school, like he’s getting thrown into something he knows he can ace but would give anything to have extra time to prepare for anyway.

Jake takes a deep breath and, almost on autopilot, starts mentally running through a list of reminders for himself: His wife is pregnant, he’s going to be a father, and he will be a good one. His wife is pregnant, he’s going to be a father, and he will be a good one. His wife is pregnant, he’s going to be a father, and he _will_ be a good one.

Slowly but surely, the words on the calendar stop swimming in front of his eyes and he can breathe freely again. _Look at that, the reminder-thing worked,_ he thinks sardonically, although there was no reason for it to fail him when it never has before.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he asks into the phone, interrupting Charles’s explanation of the different types of wood cribs are made out of.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I got a little carried away there. But there’s just so much to consider—”

“So, I kinda need a new therapist now. Do you think you can help me find one?” Jake blurts out before he can lose his courage.

He knows, deep-down, that therapy is good for him, but the thought of having to start over with someone he’s not sure he can trust makes him queasy. At least having his friend’s help would make that issue obsolete.

Charles is, predictably, enthusiastic (maybe even overly so). By the time they hang up, Jake has a two-page list of offices in Brooklyn complete with the pros and cons of each. He’s about to dial the number for the first one when he hears the front door unlock. Jake puts the phone down.

Amy enters the apartment a few seconds later, offering him a watery smile, and Rosa slinks in behind her, looking more nervous than Jake has ever seen her.

He nods at both of them. “Hey. Let’s talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi.


End file.
